Of the Subconscious

As though as I have often thought,
They come to me in still silence,
Where I am allowed to think aloud,
And flood pages with words.
This typically in shades of darkness,
Evolving into plain whispers.
Once there, subdued and worn down,
I must release my confined feelings,
Like the knots and flies in my gorge,
And breathe painfully.
I can only burn for so long.
Such the life I am blessed to have,
So to perform unknowing rites
Of arrogance to persuade you,
But so innocent.